The One Who Forgot, The One Who remembers

LYRA'S POINT OF VIEW The night was beautiful. From the balcony of Kieran’s penthouse, the city spread out before me, endless and alive, glowing under the pale silver moon. The wind played with the ends of my hair, the silk of my dress cool against my skin. Below, cars snaked through the streets, their headlights merging with neon signs and streetlamps. I should have felt safe here. Secure. Loved. But something was wrong. It had started with a text—no name, just a blocked number. Three words. "He's coming. Run." My fingers had hovered over my phone screen, heart pounding, but before I could respond, the message disappeared. Deleted. The deletion was as if it had never existed at all. My stomach twisted with unease. Kieran was late. He was never late. I exhaled, trying to shake the nervous energy buzzing under my skin. Maybe I was overthinking. Perhaps a meeting had distracted him. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. And then the door slammed open. The sound cracked through the silence like a gunshot, reverberating through the penthouse. I turned too fast, my wine glass slipping from my fingers, shattering against the marble floor. Kieran stood in the doorway, his presence suffocating the room. His usually controlled exterior was unraveling at the edges—his suit wrinkled, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, his tie yanked loose. But it was his eyes that made my breath catch. Dark. Blazing. Unforgiving. My stomach dropped. Something was really, really wrong. "Kieran?" My voice barely held steady. He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. In his hand was a thick folder. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the glass coffee table. Pages spilled out, fluttering like dying birds. "You want to explain this?" His voice was eerily calm. I hesitated before reaching for one of the papers. The moment my eyes landed on the text, my blood turned to ice. Confidential files. The documents contain bank account transactions. The documents bear my name in bold print throughout. The numbers blurred. The event wasn’t real. "Kieran, I don’t—" My breath hitched. "This isn’t mine. I didn’t do this." He scoffed. "Try again." I lifted my gaze to his, desperate. "You know me. You know I would never—" "Do I?" His voice was sharper now. "I don't know anything right now, Lyra." I shook my head frantically. "Someone set me up!" His laugh was bitter. "Right. Of course. Because you’re innocent." He gestured at the documents. "Do you even realize what you’ve done? You didn’t just sell out a company—you sold me out." "No!" My voice cracked. "You cost me billions." His tone was controlled, but beneath it was something raw, something close to betrayal. "You think I wouldn’t find out?" "Kieran, I swear, I didn’t do this!" I stepped closer, reaching for his hand. "Please, you have to believe me." He pulled away like I was something filthy. "You lied to me." The words sliced through me, more painful than any wound. "I didn’t," I whispered. "Don’t." His voice was cold. "Don’t stand there and pretend you’re the victim." Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "You assured me," I uttered, my tone barely audible above a whisper. His jaw clenched. "So did you." The silence between us stretched, heavy with things left unsaid. And then he moved. The gesture was a simple nod. It was a simple, calculated movement. The front door opened again. Two men stepped in—his men. My breath caught. "Kieran?" Panic surged through me. "Take her." The words barely registered before hands grabbed me, rough and unyielding. "No!" I thrashed, kicking out, and struggling. "Kieran, please!" He stood motionless, watching. "Please, you know me!" My voice broke as they dragged me toward the door. "I love you!" For a second—just a second—his expression faltered. But then he turned his back. I felt as though I was insignificant. I felt as though I had no significance. The flashing lights were blinding. The world blurred in a haze of red and blue as the police car screeched to a halt. Cameras. Journalists. I can hear voices shouting my name. I barely registered the questions thrown at me. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning everything out. The cold metal cuffs around my wrists bit into my skin. The event wasn’t real. This scenario couldn’t be real. Someone had set me up. But who? And why? As the police car pulled away, I turned my head, searching through the chaos. Kieran stood on the steps of his building, hands in his pockets, his face void of emotion. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I didn't fight for myself A sharp pain stabbed through my chest— something beyond betrayal, beyond heartbreak. The incident wasn’t just a misunderstanding. This was a setup. And whoever had done this... They had just committed the greatest error of their lives.